Sometimes solace can be found buried
In plastic containers and discarded food
Wrappings clustered beneath a crumbling
Overpass. Sometimes intimacy can be
Glimpsed in the eyes of a junkie huddled
On a streetcorner, their sunken face
Peering from within a mountain of dirty
Blankets. Comfort can be the distant
Blare of a siren, fading into early dusk.
Even the darkest and deadliest streets of
This city are steeped in memories of my
Youth. Leaning against the chain-link fence
Of FAT, watching F-15’s roar to life on the
Tarmac, the fiery red glow cast from their
Exhaust warming my cheeks. Across the
Avenue, rough-hewn men sneak into the
Entrance of City Lights, casting furtive looks
Over their shoulder at the little blonde girl.
Riding the carousel at Manchester Mall in
All its lustrous glory, golden lights flashing
Above my head, a myriad of spinning colors
Enveloping me like a vortex of fantastical
Creatures, waving to my family standing at
The rails after each full orbit was complete.
I can still taste the grease oozing from the
Cafeteria fries as I listen to my parents
Argue over the drone of the mall’s inhabitants.
The harsh rays of sunlight beating down on
Kearney Park still burn the back of my corneas
As I reminisce Renfaires of the past, furtive
Kisses stolen beneath the branches of Maple
Trees, lovers now buried in the cobwebs of time,
Running their hands up my flowing skirts, eyes
Twinkling, lips moving soundlessly, drowned by
The fire breathers performing behind us at the
Center of the mansion’s vast, flowing courtyard.
Rattling in my skull is the hollow echo of a train
Passing by. I remain huddled beneath the dismal
Tracks, clutching a box of Krispy Kreme’s in my
Lap, lips turning blue from December’s wintry bite.
Notes of dust sift through the hazy pink light
Of sunset, dipping below the San Joaquin River,
A black serpent stretching across the belly of
River Bottom. I watch nameless possessions drift
By on the current, wondering what history they hold.
My feet still remember the jagged terrain of Fulton
Street, stepping over broken syringes and discarded
Joints, my blood alive with the electric current of
Music booming from Art Hop stalls, the air heavy
With vape smoke and incense. Canvases propped
Against abandoned theaters, gold, and black paint
Dripping down, chaos and beauty merged. I would
Dance beneath domes of neon lights, spinning above
Courthouse Park, alive in a way I never felt before.
These places have now been reduced to empty husks,
Stripped of their former glory by the ravages of time,
The anger of the beaten and broken. Inside me, they
Still live on, spreading like roots, anchoring me to my
Scarred homeland, remembrances of warmth and
Innocence. My entire life has been dedicated to
Escaping this hell, yet I find myself longing for home,
For the happiness I felt, perched atop downtown’s
Southwest Building, watching fireworks explode,
Chrysanthemums against a starry backdrop…
Fresno’s Fourth of July.